Pure Pazaak
by Dominique Sotto
Summary: Trying to make sense of Atton Rand, Jedi Code and what in blazes Obsidian writers were trying to cook up. I don't own anything, but love the KOTOR games and the intrepid modding community that unlocked the cut content.
1. Chapter 1

1. Twin Suns

_Let the Hutts on a planet, and they would drag slime all over it. _Granted, Nar Shaddaa was a moon, and he couldn't feel what was hidden under the slums _before_, but he could always see the ugliness. Atton cringed and walked faster, trying to tune out the tide of the Force beating against its prison walls. He was still uncomfortable with the whole Force sensitivity deal. Let the Disciple fool himself and call himself a Jedi. Atton had a pretty good idea where he stood. Where they _both_ stood, really. A properly trained twelve year-old padawan would have beaten the pants off the both of them in the olden times where it came to the Force. Sure, Disciple was younger, so maybe he had an edge on him, but he would be damned if he let the boy ahead. How old was Disciple anyway? Eighteen? Whatever, the boy sat out the wars, so he was centuries younger.

Atton slipped through the doors of the cantina and immediately felt better. The lowlifes were closer now, and en masse they tuned out the primal wailing of the moon. He made a beeline for the bar, scanning the room for a likely looser he could clean out of a few credits. _Just enough to buy a drink, ma'am, and make it interesting. Nothing wrong with Senate rules, of course, oh no. _He focused on his glass, willing his thoughts to a halt. Master Quinly wasn't there, but with the Force you never knew, she might have heard him. The last thing she needed was his thoughts on pazaak, being how she was walking into an obvious trap just about now. Juma juice swirled gamely on the way to his lips, and it wasn't even half bad. He closed his eyes, savoring the drink.

Then the hair prickled at the back of his neck. He looked above the rim, to see what it was: two peas in a pod, and as pretty as they come. Dancer's walk, and as generous of hips as they were economical of clothes. The exquisite pair flashed hungry smiles as they approached.

"Well, hello, beautiful man. You look lonely tonight."

"Mind if we join you?"

"I will be thrilled," Atton replied truthfully. They reminded him strongly of Master… of Quinly, well, of any woman who was used to handling a blade, but mostly of Quinly. Murder, no matter the reason, marks a woman. _Or a man for that matter_. He bet they could smell it on him too; three peas in a pod, really. Again, he willed his thoughts to a halt and fell back on an old trick, forcing lust and over-confidence to the surface. It could buy him a moment to think up a way out. He leered: "So what are you, dancing girls?"

"Oh, we were, we were dancing girls once, but slaves no more."

"Our master… he was made to let us go."

Atton was starting to like them finishing each-other's sentences. Or, anyway, it was the only thing that felt right about them.

"What are you doing on our beautiful planet?" the woman asked him softly, one arm on his knee, the other snaking behind her back. He watched the second, the now silent one, waited for her to chime in. The words did not come: a favored pattern, no doubt. He felt the blade before he saw it. Well, he wasn't that proud; Jedi tricks will do to save his neck. "I am visiting here with a friend," Atton said, leaping on the bar, away from the hungry point. "A friend that does not need the complications from your lot." The twins smiled, happy that the game was up and four swords slashed at his legs. He jumped again, over the blades, over their heads, flipped in the air, let the energy pulse forward from the hilt. Now, that was a pure joy! That alone was worth all the troubles the Force brought upon a man. Even when it was one lightsaber against four swords.

What did Quinly said? "On its own, a lightsaber can win a fight no more than a blaster could, Atton. You have an advantage of already knowing it. Do not forget it now, that you are not on the receiving end." He scoffed at her, but, yes, the shimmering Jedi sword had an intoxicating effect. Made him feel righteous and invincible.

Good thing one could still stick the pointy end in a woman's back. Which is what he did, right before landing on his feet. One of the hellcats slipped down, leaving a bloody smear on the bar. "I have a few good cards, lady."

The remaining twin lunged, her mouth set in a straight line now. It became personal. He parried a few blows, barely. One sword slipped under, cut through the armor. The second, he managed to parry just above his neck. Sparks flew in his face. _A lightsaber is only as powerful as a Jedi that wields it. _Maybe he should have shot at the assassins. _Do not forget it now, that you are not on the receiving end._

"I am on the giving end," he thought frantically, as the huntress chased him across the room, towards a corner, towards –

-another cut, shoulder this time-

Atton Rand closed his eyes. Lightsaber was not a sword, not a blaster, not a tool. It was the Jedi. Sparks did not bother him anymore, and for a few hits his mind seemed to parry the woman's blades, not his arms guiding the lightsaber. That was how Quinly did it. That was why she was so improbably fast. It was damn tiring. Atton started to feel lightheaded and rushed his assailant with his last, feverish jolt of energy. Sensing his near collapse, she took a measured step back, goading him, looking for an opening. But he stuck a needle in his thigh, dropped the lightsaber and kept running past her, like there was a squad of Mandalorians on his heels.

Finding his footing on one of the patron sprawled on the ground, covering his head in a practiced gesture, Atton Rand jumped on a table. The pounding of blood in his ears stopped as soon as he felt the cold weight of a blaster in his hand. He took an aim like he had all the time in the world. The blast threw the swordswoman backwards. She staggered and went down with a furious, frustrated yelp. He shot her one more time just to be sure. The women jerked with the impact and went still. He jumped off the table, stepped over her and walked back to the bar. The owner shut his teeth with a clank after one look at his face, the old coward. Atton was sure he had looked worse.

He finished his glass (the juice was passable, no need to waste), threw the credits on the counter, and walked out, scooping the lightsaber off the floor as he passed. He doubted anyone in the cantina had gone running to tell Disciple on him. So it was up to Atton to get to_ Ebon Hawk_ as fast as he could. There was a threat brewing in the air, and the Force hummed with it.


	2. Chapter 2

2. Puzzle-box

Atton ran to _Ebon Hawk_, shoving people out of the way, ignoring protests and curses. His tension eased a little when he saw the ship still on the landing pad just as he'd left her, save for a new rusty spot or two. The hatch opened and Kreia's narrow face stared at him for a moment. When she came out, the others followed (the old witch had its uses). Disciple, of course, blond and plump; phlegmatic Bao-Dur; Visas, whom he didn't know what to make of; a Mandalorian who was, well, a Manadalorian; and a couple of rust-buckets.

"It's an open season," Atton said, "and we are the game. Look sharp." Disciple jumped off the ramp in a flash, and would be gone running, if he hadn't caught him on the swinging robes. _That's why anyone with a grain of sense wears armor. _"You are not heading for Jekk'Jekk, at least not right away." The young man scowled. "Now, now, don't stomp your feet at _me_," Atton said, "ain't my fault the locals spotted the target painted on her forehead by the Exchange and got creative. We'll have to clear them out to get to Jekk. Together."

"I will stay and land you a hand against the knaves. But after, not you, not anyone else—" Disciple glanced warily at Kreia, "…is going to stop me from looking for my Master." "Oh, good," muttered Atton, "we have so much in common."

"Here they come," Bao-Dur interrupted in the same even tone he asked a passerby to hand him a hydrospanner, please. In fact, he might have sounded more excited about the tool. It was hard to say with Bao-Dur. When Atton first saw Quinly tutoring the Iridonian in handling the lightsaber, he thought it was an elaborate prank. The joke was on him, apparently. Bao-Dur had a talent for manipulating the Force to impact the inanimate and the energies. He also treated a lightsaber as a pet, if it made any sense. And, his unwavering calm turned positively glacial when the push came to shove, a mark of an elite soldier. Mechanic, yeah, right.

The times must have been lean on Nar Shaddaa, for a surprising number of gangs flooded through the alleyways to try their luck at winning the bounty. Atton glanced gands, twi'leks, bith, duros—aim lower, aim higher, aim lower to hit the targets. That was pure pazaak, hitting the targets one after another. Not at all like the two women in the cantina, when it was all too personal. Not at all like – whatever. A human, take her on the side before she shoots—

"STOP!"

…or makes more noise…

"QUINLY!"

Atton reversed the blow's direction. "This one wants to talk," Bao-Dur said cautiously, jumping over from somewhere. Another annoying gift of his. Atton lowered the lightsaber an inch from the talking face. Towards the — May the Force be… wherever. His brows shot up: "The fashions in Nar Shaddaa slums are getting better and better."

The two assassins in the cantina were quite the sight, but couldn't hold a candle to this one. The red-haired she-devil was squeezed in a few straps of poisonously-green plate. What sort of protection it offered when the gal walked through the blaster inferno was anybody's guess, but then again, Jedi robes didn't seem like much either. If only they came in the same cut. A memory of Quinly wearing a dancer's costume to come before the mob leader Vogga was, well, pleasant. Not that she had a waist like the red-head one, but her body rippled, so tight, so able-

"Name's Mira," the owner of the tiny waist said. "You want to listen about your big-time Jedi friend or do I knock you out and talk to the one with horns?"

"Say your piece," Atton replied wishing he knew how to choke the life out of people. A dangerous power, straight out of the Sith' handbooks, but Visas seemed to cope just fine. Atton was sure he could use it with the same elegant discretion.

"Look, the short of it is that Goto got the Jedi on his yacht," Mira said.

"And the long story? You know, how you fit in, and why I shouldn't shoot you?"

"We don't exactly have time for an epic poem here," by the look Mira gave him, she was not opposed to chocking with discretion either. "Fine, fine, she was my bounty, but Visquis cheated. Then Goto cheated. Then – well, she is a prisoner at the Goto's yacht. My point is, lots of very angry people would love to know where the yacht is, and none could find out to date. So, ideas how to get to the Jedi?"

Atton scratched his head. The landing pad was still reverberating with the sound of fighting, and the Force pounded against him with pain, confusion and fury. Luckily, he was not a type to meditate to solve the problems. "Maybe I could hack power distribution grids," Bao-Dur said thoughtfully. "If I can find the diversion points not accounted for in the records—" Mira groaned: "This here is not called the Smuggler's Moon for nothing, genius." "She's right," Atton said. "When you can't find them, the only hope is to make them find you." Bao-Dur murmured: "It did not go well for the General." Atton waved his hand in the air: "Right. On foot. No egress plan. This red-head mixed in somehow. What could possibly go wrong? We will do it differently."

The plan was shaping up in his head and fast. "Does Goto still nab Vogga's freighters?" Atton asked Mira. "Yeees…" Mira said. "So we fudge the _Hawk's_ signature and fly it in, like she's a freighter. A little gift for Goto. I bet he'd grab the package without looking too closely."

"It could work," Bao-Dur agreed.

"Because Vogga's going to share the codes with your lot?" Mira snorted. "If you've asked nicely? I wouldn't give you directions to a cantina!"

"Thanks, we can manage without," Atton retorted.

"Oh, I don't doubt," Mira yelled, "but the codes—"

"I have been helping Fassa to fix his freighter landing system, and copied a couple of codes. I've had a feeling it can come in handy." _He was fixing a blazing landing system while on a shore leave. Swell. Well, some of us play pazaak-_

"One more thing before we go," Atton nodded in Disciple's general direction. The man was in the middle of a flashy two-sword number that was surprisingly effective. Or at least a swarm of gands thought so, scattering out of his way and taking to blasters. "I owe him something. I think." Bao-Dur shrugged and rushed forward. By the time Atton caught up, Disciple stopped hitting the air with his fist. "Go," he said with a grim determination. "I will do what I must," he finally looked up at Atton. The young man's bright blue eyes turned icy. _He is shaping up_. Atton frowned, surprised that he felt a kind of pity for the boy. He's seen it too many times for it to start bothering him now. It was a good thing for the Disciple anyway; the bright-eyed got killed. Bao-Dur took Atton by the shoulder and turned him towards the Hawk. "Let us proceed, Captain."

Sure, he didn't care, but he still wanted to know. So Atton stuck his head into the engine room on his way to the cockpit. "She will be ready in a minute," reported Bao-Dur. "Erm, yes, thanks," Atton paused, before giving into his curiosity. "What did you tell him?" The mechanic looked at him levelly. "The truth. You fly. I cut through the security. He takes the rest to the docks and kills everyone eager to blow up Goto's yacht once the security is off and she is in plain view. Until _Hawk_ makes her egress, Captain."

Atton took_ Ebon Hawk_ to the air, and focused on flying her like a freighter. Steady, slow, slow, slower… Bao-Dur came to the bridge and stood watching the lights of Nar Shaddaa impassively until blinding floodlight filled the pit and a mechanical voice announced that they were being diverted on Goto's orders. "We are in," Atton whispered. "Almost," Bao-Dur replied as they sprinted down the exit ramp, lightsabers at the ready. Atton shrugged. He only need to dispose of whatever or whoever stood between him and Quinly. And all will be well.


	3. Chapter 3

3. Lost and Found

Shiny and sleek, Goto's yacht dwarfed _Ebon Hawk_, and looked like she could handle icy comets, meteors showers and plasma winds. _Nice ride_. The alarm was blaring, and the vessel echoed with the movement of heavy equipment and droids. Goto was getting ready to meet the barrage coming his way.

"There is a computer console on Ebon Hawk, Bao-Dur," Atton called to his partner, after a quick duck and scan of the starboard hallway. "Log out, and come greet the welcoming committee."

"There are three lines of defense that I can see: battle droids, mine fields and the turrets," Bao-Dur purred. "Fascinating," Atton bit back, as a round from a blaster hit the door at his chest level. Whoever designed HK line, sure flipped the 'single-minded focus on the task' switch to the max.

"All of which I can shut down so it doesn't explode in our pretty faces," the Iridonian's voice could lull boma-beasts to sleep. "Please, do. I am attached to your regular features," Atton ducked again and threw his lightsaber at the HK-50 head. "We will need the overrides," the Iridonian concluded, brushed his hands on his pants, and swept towards the opposite side of the docking hatch. He ducked for a look, drawing another angry string of blaster fire. "If we find one, it's yours," Atton said absently, catching the returning lightsaber, "On three."

He tapped the count on the doorframe and rolled through, swirling his lightsaber to parry the blaster rays as he rose to his feet. Behind him, Bao-Dur did the same roll, but surged the Force, trusting Atton to shield him. He knocked out the closest HK-50. Atton dove through the breach, and chopped up the next HK in line. Rinse. Repeat. "Child's play," Bao-Dur drawled, "that's the thirty-fourth, thirty-fifth and thirty-sixth HK-50." The assassination brigade haunted Quinly since the day Atton saw her parade in the state of partial undress past his detention cell on Peragus mining facility. _A thousand years ago to the day._ "Let them come," Atton grunted, "we need spare parts."

They used the same tactics along the starboard hall. Goto's droids where of a different make than the HKs, but they fell just as easily to Bao-Dur's Force blast. It would have been a fast sweep, but the Iridonian kept sifting methodically through the remnants of the droid carnage. Finally, his mulish persistence paid off: he twisted something inside a crumpled head unit, it crunched, and a small panel came lose. "Here, that should help with the exterior defenses."

"Fore, then!" Atton polished the already gleaming walls with his back, made a check of the larger compartment, ducked back in the doorway. "Mines. Largish droids behind. That would be the exterior defense." Bao-Dur attached his precious panel to another console: "On it, Captain. Wait for it… wait for it…" Then, pianissimo: "Boom."

One of the charges exploded with a deafening crush, pelting the air with killing shards. The others hissed and went out, sending up mere wisps of smoke. "That's a _shut down_ program?" Atton yelled through the haze. "Overload. I made do." Atton could barely hear Bao-Dur for the pounding of the metal feet. The droids were coming for them, now the mine field was not protecting them. _Creative bastards_. "Well, hang on to your horns," Atton muttered turning to meet the charging wall of fire and metal. "Worry about your own, Captain."

The familiar surge of Force swept past him. He rolled and hacked. Rinse. Repeat. Pure pazaak. Only, when it was over this time, Atton ferreted around like a Dantoine scavenger for the security datapads.

"Tell me this one was a shut-down," Atton said following a blind curve of a narrow passage. "It was a shut down." They walked past the silent turrets. "I like the shut-down." Then things got busy again. No time to talk, only to kill. Melt the metal, burn the oil, cut the wires, blast lights out.

"She is not on the bridge," Atton looked around ready to hit anything that moved funny. Not a stir. Thanks to their efforts, the bridge was now devoid of droids. And Quinly. "Did you think she would be?" Bao-Dur asked as fire and smoke blossomed in the purple air off the port side. The yacht shook, and Atton got thrown against the pilots' panel. It was better than the silence. It made him think faster.

"I don't know. This rust bucket is too blazing big." Another hit, off the starboard this time. _Common, Disciple, you're slipping._ "I will fly her off world and we search at leisure." Bao-Dur shrugged, pouring over the multicolored schematics on the panel: "I am sure the General will understand how it was easier to strand them fighting Nar Shaddaa's best than to check Goto's ballroom." He tapped his finger on a big circular compartment at the stern. "Her backside was too wide for just the cells and the hall. We must have missed a turn."

Atton swore and ran, or, rather, tried to run. The halls were much too narrow now that the yacht lurched and vibrated with the explosions, so the progress was slower, much slower than he wanted. Finally, there it was: the metal hatch of cold gray. Atton was happy to see that it was locked. The work stopped his hands from shaking and the hot dampness that spread all over his back after the battle was done didn't bother him any more. He tapped the lock, listened, picked on it with his trusty tunneler until the door slid opened. Atton straightened, and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. He savored the view of the prize.

Ballroom, or whatever it was, was huge, round and shiny. Dead-centre, a woman sat cross-legged, immobile, apparently oblivious to the battle raging in the sky, to the open doors, to _him_. It lasted a heartbeat. The living statue's cat-like eyes opened, and Master Quinly came to her feet. "Atton. Bao-Dur. Let us move." Then she was in the hall, walking unerringly towards _Ebon Hawk_. If she brushed past him on her way, it was so impossibly fast that he did not feel it at all. He would have liked to. Very much.

Back by _Ebon Hawk_, in the docking hatch, they were greeted by a hefty flying sphere. "Whatever did you do to Remote, Bao-Dur? And when?" asked Atton perplexed. Bao-Dur pointed behind his shoulder. _There_ hovered the Remote, a small useless thing. Bao-Dur maintained his droid helped him fix things. Maybe it did, or maybe he needed a pet. The swollen up version started a pompous speech, something about Goto needing to supervise Quinly's actions from a close distance.

"General, the shields won't hold for much longer," Bao-Dur's mentioned casually, ignoring the self-important droid's chatter. Quinly nodded her acknowledgement and paid attention to the Goto's droid just long enough for a clipped: "If you wish." The droid floated off, disappearing inside _Hawk_. Back to Bao-Dur: "Countdown?"

"Thirty," replied Bao-Dur, "twenty nine—"

He was at three, when Atton peeled _Ebon Hawk_ away from the docking module. _Plenty of time. _

Taking off was pure pazaak, but landing her took some art, since the ground party retreated from the docks, leaving the Exchange thugs to their target practice. Good thing Exchange hated Goto so much; only a few ruffians followed their men. Atton opened the landing hatch and fired from the turrets a couple of time to discourage the wrong crowd from getting on board. Disciple was the first up the ramp. He had a look of a man who walked through at least one plasma burst. His fair hair was sooty, his robes - singed, and an ugly burn covered his cheek, neck and chest. Yet, the heady cocktail of youth, Force, and who knows how many battle stims kept him not only on his feet, but oblivious to anything but Quinly.

"Master, are you well?" he crossed the mess-hall in three strides.

Quinly did not reply, only raised her hand up in the air. For one mad moment Atton thought that she would push the man away. Instead, they both stood motionless, and the young man's skin and tissue mended. Quinly lowered her hand and caught Disciple on the elbow to steady him. "As talented as you are in the medical arts, you should have attended to it immediately," she said evenly, "and yes, I am well." Disciple beamed. Not a trace of ice in his eyes now.

The intercom beeped loudly, urgently in the cockpit. "Will you take the message, Atton, please?" asked Quinly. "I must talk with you, Mira, before we take off."

The transparent image floating over the com turned out to be Xarga, a Mandalorian from Dxun. "Vaklu's made his move against Queen Talia," the Mandalorian reported. "There is fighting on Onderon, Vaklu brought the Sith to fight against the Royalists." Atton nodded: "He's got balls. Or he is a fool." The Mandalorian shrugged: "There is also a ship here, on Dxun." "Reserve?" Atton asked. "Probably," Xarga shrugged, "I don't think they are any danger. Digging up an old burial mound instead of training. Like the old bones are worth a good soldier." He spat. Atton frowned; Sith looking for old bones sounded bad to him. "Thanks, Xarga." Xarga grunted: "We'll be seeing your frying pan here soon enough, lest I miss my guess." Atton buzzed off and went to look for Quinly with the news.

He was at the messhall, when he spotted Quinly sitting opposite from bristling Mira on a sleeping bunk. "It is a tough ship you want to catch. All of my crew is bound to me by the Force."

"Not all of them are Jedi!" Mira exclaimed.

"None of us is a Jedi," Quinly replied evenly, "and he is a Mandalorian."

"He is a _man," _Mira snorted derisively.

"Indeed," Quinly said, "You don't think highly of men, do you, Mira?"

"I don't have problem with them," the red-head laughed, "I dress like I do, they stare, a right hook, and the bounty is mine. Men's good for business."

Quinly leaned forward intently, and made Mira look at her. "We are not after bounties, Mira. If you stay with the ship, with me, you will shoot a blaster. And, if you do not have a blaster, and it is a biped, you kick hard at the groin, not the chin."

Atton grinned despite himself. _Girl's talk, huh._ He cleared his throat to attract Quinly's attention, but there was no need, she was already turning to face him, rising from the bunk (_too bad that_). "The message, Quinly."

She listened, nodded. "Mira? If you decide to leave, it will have to be on Onderon. Atton, get us to Dxun."


	4. Chapter 4

4. A Jedi's Test

The _Ebon Hawk_ sailed smoothly through the velvety blackness towards Onderon. Some people could stare in the star-studded space for hours, mesmerized, but it made Atton restless. So restless, in fact, that he decided to stretch his legs. He walked the length of the ship, once, twice. T3-M4 buzzed through the walkways, but that was it. "Sleeping or something," Atton thought, and decided to grab a bit from the mess-hall. It was not that he was hungry; it was that he was, well, restless. _A soldier eats and sleeps when he can_. Yet, despite his intentions, his legs carried him through the galley, and to the door of the medical bay. There he stopped and lean his back against the doorframe. _Mesmerized, like some of those stargazers_. Disciple and Quinly were at it. Again. What was that about meditation that the Jedi enjoyed it so much? He tried a few times, when the Master trained him, and he liked sleeping far better.

"Having a case of meditation envy?" that Mira woman's cheerful voice spooked Atton enough for him to bump his head against the steel frame.

"No, why? It's excruciatingly boring." Then the words popped out before he thought it through: "He's boring too, isn't he?"

Mira cocked her head to one shoulder and gave the oblivious young man a good one-over. "Lovely hair, bright eyes, artistic hands, and eager to know loads of things that are of no use to anyone."

"That's what I've thought. Boring," Atton concluded.

Mira chuckled: "Better than you, bully-boy. What did you do that's so special? I was only here for a bit, but all I've seen out of you is whining and griping and—"

"Alright, enough. Enough, already!" Atton put his hand up to stay the woman's verbal onslaught. Her explosive personality was a stark contrast with Quinly's serene ways, yet the intensity was the same if it made any sense. _Serenity, such a tease._

"-and sulking!" Mira wasn't finished with him. "And what's with this… this _gleaning? _What's wrong with you anyway?"

Atton stared at her completely bedazzled: "What's with what?" Mira exhaled angrily: "Look, don't you play me," she stuck her thumb at Quinly, "This woman already wears a sack, and doesn't even bother to belt it. Can she be any more obvious save for breathing ice every time she opens her mouth? And yet you, all of you, can't bother to clue in?"

Atton felt Quinly stir, and started to back away from Mira. The last thing he needed was Quinly hearing any of this nonsense.

"You're every kind of crazy, girl. Have it your way, I am leaving. I am going to go and check the navicomp, and grab a bite—"

"You do that," Mira chuckled, with a change of mood as sudden as a cryoblast. Change of a mood or not, she apparently couldn't resist taking a parting shot: "And take a shower while you are at it!"

"Maybe I will," Atton muttered through his teeth and charged toward the cockpit.

"Make it a very cold one!" Mira said in a sing-song voice behind him.

That wasn't such a bad idea, really. Mira did not get it, did not know it, despite her street smarts. The thing was the war made away with your notions of what comes first. The drummer's beat becomes deafening, and food, shelter and all the other niceties don't matter no more. Nothing's left to a man that matters but survival and victory.

Yet, he had time, and the body needed its lessons to fight on, to resist.

So Atton stood under the running water, and turned the dials to the coldest extreme. As the water poured down his head and shoulders, he braced himself for the chill, but none came. He shifted, letting the relentless jet pour down the back of his neck. Still nothing. _Oh, blazes_. He reached _inwards, _fumbled and found the switch in his mind that he had locked, unknowingly. Atton took a deep breath in, relaxed… and felt the cold as acutely as ever. _The Jedi tricks, curse it! _Atton waited till the shivering grew uncontrollable, and shut the water down. He stepped out to rub the chill off with a stiff towel. A few dozen of push-ups while the blood pumped high through his veins, and he would be done. _Unless_…

Reluctantly, Atton extended hand for his lightsaber. The sword came, eagerly. He fell into a form that Quinly worked with him another day. _Pure Pazaak_. The Force that bound them, the man and the sword, was flowing unrestricted without the barrier of the armor. It was worth considering, he supposed. He tried the drill again. Same thing. And the lightsaber reminded him of Quinly's eyes; same color, same cold light._ That benighted Mira with her innuendo! _He was fastening his armor defiantly, when the communicator beeped. It was time to return to the cockpit.

Last time they had been to Dxun it was a far more exciting arrival. Running away under fire, crashing into the softness of the jungle world, and coming face to face with a bunch of savage Mandalorian warriors. This time the Mandalorians called them in, and lined up to meet them. Peaceful-like. _A very strange landing, indeed._

Quinly was the first of the ship and surveyed everyone. Her eyes stopped on him, and she said in her _General _voice: "Atton, you will take Bao-Dur and Disciple, and head for the Sith tomb to put a stop to their search. The rest of us will need to infiltrate Onderon and bail out Talia."

The huge warlord, styling himself as the Mandalore guffawed: "Three, Quinly. I have a Basilisk droid fixed up for the drop, but it will only take three." She squinted, against the sun, taking no more than a split-second to change the plans: "Visas and Kreia then. This is Jedi business."

She swept round, getting ready to get back to the _Hawk. _Then she's changed her mind, turned towards him. "Walk with me," she mouthed under her breath and led the way to the edge of what served as their landing pad. The Mandalorians roughly hacked away the jungle greenery, and everything, every cut blade of grass; every spongy trunk now seeped, oozed and rotted in the moist heat. It was overbearing and overwhelming.

"Atton," Quinly said when she was satisfied that they were out of the earshot, "Atton Rand, when you feel the need to talk about me, you will talk to me. Not Bao-Dur, not Disciple, not Mira. _Me_."

Atton gasped. The last thing he has expected was _this_. "What, Kreia's digging through my head is not enough?! Now you are listening in onto my private conversations?"

Quinly moved her head a fraction, indicating a denial. "I do not need to hear, Atton. This is a very small ship, and I can see. I see when someone looks at you, looks at me, and back at you again."

He balled his fists. The worst thing of all was that she didn't even sound angry. "Is that why you are sending me _sightseeing _while you are preparing to take on an army single-handedly? Have I _offended_?"

Quinly waited, and waited in silence for him to reach the calm. _There is no passion, there is serenity. _A prompt was barely noticeable, but it helped.

"Atton, I have meditated on the Jedi woman's reasons. I know now why she died and kept you hidden from the Sith."

"What?" Atton asked, not seeing why it had to be dragged to the light just _now_.

"She did so because you would have made a powerful Sith. Your raw emotions would make you strong in their ways, if you were schooled. Those that feel like you shoot upward like the signal rockets, and there seem to be no stopping them. She shielded you with her life to keep you from it. I do not wish to."

"You want me to add Darth in front of my name?" Atton asked incredulously.

"No," said Quinly, "She tested you, Atton, and you turned away as she has intended and ran," Quinly sighed. "It was a harsh test, but if you were trained properly, you would have been tested again and again and again, to see if you would break. But we are caught in this storm, and I must take a risk. The Sith in that tomb can render anything we do on Onderon useless."

"Trust me," was all Atton could say, his throat going dry. The woman had given him a command, not tried to humiliate him. Quinly fixed him with a calm look. _Why did she have to have eyes like this, yellow and green, and slanted?_

"With you I send my most beloved student," she said gravely, "you know what it means for a Master to lose a pawdwan. You said so yourself."

Atton winced. He wished he didn't tell her _that_.

"Where I go," Quinly continued with the same gravity, "I cannot afford a smallest distraction, let alone a tearing of bonds. So you shall wield a power over me, Atton, a power to hurt or kill me, the same you knew of old."

Atton shivered at the memories of pain and the sheer misery of his past. Why could not he fall in with the women that did not twist the world into something bewildering with every word?

"Someone like you would rise very fast and very high with the Sith, yet will fall even quicker and harder than they rise. The staying power rests with the Sith whose emotions are locked away, who could deal pain without feeling it. If the Jedi said a word, she would have avenged herself upon you, a hundred-fold."

Atton shivered, and tried to shake off his unease: "Well that settles it then. I won't join the Sith in that temple, but cut through them noble-like."

Quinly sighed: "Atton, all warnings, no matter how dire, fade in the face of passion and desire. Against all that will feel natural to you in that tomb I have only one thing to offer. There is love without pain, Atton, and you've felt it, though you haven't known. That's the only thing the Jedi way can give you that the Sith's cannot."

And she walked away, unperturbed.


	5. Chapter 5

5. The Doings of Men

Bao-Dur tried to distance himself as much as possible from their Mandalorian escort, a comic effort in the tight fit of the speeder. Disciple stayed quiet the entire ride, perhaps daydreaming, perhaps practicing with the Force, perhaps both if it had something to do with Quinly. Atton himself stopped being aware of her just after the Basilisk broke the Dxun atmosphere, and the echo of exhilaration faded from his mind. Mandalorians were men at the most primal level, so the Basilisk was fast and powerful above and beyond the actual need. _Unless the need is to learn if my girl has a shred of heart left. _

"Say, Xarga, are there she-Mandalorians? Or do you boys hatch out just like that?"Atton asked their guide lazily. The Mandalorian guffawed through the grill of his helmet: "We have women, worry not." "What, they are _funny_ women?" Mandalorian revved the engine, and weaved the flyer through a miniscule gap between an enormous tree trunk and a sheer cliff: "Nah. The kind that give birth to real men. No need for _us_ to dress pretty boys in skirts."

Atton wished that black-robed Disciple did not choose that particular moment to smile dreamily at something far-far away. _Or only as far away as Onderon?_ Be it as it may, Atton played pazaak in his head while Dxun's vistas fell away to the either side of him until the speeder came to an abrupt stop at the mouth of a narrow gorge.

Bao-Dur took a careful look down the path and said under his breath: "Mines." Their Mandalorian guide nodded: "Aye. And past the minefield there is a perimeter defense sensor. The Sith are well aware of this path." He looked up at Atton, and one didn't need the Force to sense that the Mandalorian was preparing to amuse himself watching the Jedi shoulder a man's task. "So, careful of this one's dress, is what I am saying." Atton muttered: "Don't you worry. He's more furious in skirts than ten of you in amour." Bao-Dur cocked a brow at him. _Yes, yes, I am sticking up for the boy. Live with that._

"What is going on?" Disciple inquired curiously breaking his reverie and looking from Atton to the Mandalorian. _About time too_. "Nothing," Atton barked, "Bao-Dur is going to pick us some mines and knock out a sensor. Then we roll in." Bao-Dur slipped into the shadows and dampness between the rocks. He re-emerged after a few dragging minutes, and said quietly: "You will need to follow me. I will not be able to knock the sensor before it alerts the closest sentries. Step where I step." They did. The fight came as a relief, actually. Still, the place was narrow, and their movements had to be economical, lest they slice a piece of one another. Disciple's smile still etched in his memory, he was sorely tempted, but restrained himself. It was a relief to hear a hiss and a quiet pop when the sensor went off. Atton rushed a dark-clothed man that was angling to behead Bao-Dur, and they were through.

He blinked tears away: the light was fiercely bright, as if the sun gave up on trying to penetrate the leafy thickness of the jungle, and instead focused all its energies on the clearing. Atton shielded his eyes, and finally spotted the Sith ship, shining at triple-strength, and further out - a large pyramid of some dark stone. It emerged menacingly from the hurriedly hacked away greenery. The Sith openly patrolled its top, clearly aware of the advantages of their position. It was highly defensible, and Atton hated the idea of running up that ramp, through the cross-fire from the men, droid and turrets. Was three enough for even one of them to make it to the top and secure the entrance? "Let's take cover," Atton nodded toward the cruiser.

They made their advance, staying to the shadows and rock, and knocked out the guards by the ship. _Pure Pazaak_. Bao-Dur spotted another control centre and mashed the buttons. "Tell me it's good news, Bao-Dur," Atton called to him. The Iridonian nodded: "Turrets are down, Captain."

"Well then, the first one to the top is the man."

Disciple flashed him a hotter look than the Jedi code surely allowed, blew a picturesque lock out of his eyes and raced onward, lighting both lightsabers. "I wish you two stopped being so human," Bao-Dur sighed and took off at a more reasonable trot, watching the young man's back, whispering a chant. Or cursing under his breath. For all Atton knew Zabracks delivered death threats in a dulcet tone.

In the end there was no saying who got where first and when. They ended up standing giddily at the top, sunlit and alive. They laughed a little. Howled, maybe. Atton went as far as clapping Disciple on the shoulder, and Disciple, clapped him right back. Then the moment of victory's passed. Atton stared into the darkness of the tomb, a black hole in the brightness of the day. Dark in the other ways as well. "Now is as good time as any," he muttered, and let the lightsaber out again. He needed it to light his way. Unbidden, Quinly's words about the tests swam up in his mind. He pushed them back. By the Jedi's code, he was as near to hopeless as it gets. But Quinly asked him to stop whatever was going on in this tomb, and he shall do just that.

Encountering some resistance, Atton and his companions made their way down a long straight passage towards the heart of the pyramid. It was too easy, Atton thought, nothing like the desperate fight to gain the entry. It soon became apparent why: an oscillating purple field covered the entry to the burial chamber. The defenders must have holed up inside, confident that none should pass. Bao-Dur tried his old trick to disturb the field with the pulsating energy of his mechanical arm. No use. It was also lightsaber-proof, no doubt warding off the Sith would-be looters.

"We need to find a switch," Bao-Dur said. Atton nodded and pointed to a side-passage: "Let's try that. Looks like a service tunnel to me, let's hope it leads us to the mechanical room." The service area was nearly deserted. It was clear that the job of guarding the switchboard fell to the lowest of the low. In the end of the tunnel was a fairly large room, crammed with tech. "Just you look at that!" Bao-Dur gasped in a rare show of excitement. _That_ was a monstrous computer panel looking sufficiently ancient to remember the first Sith Emperors. It was well cleaned, and buzzing with light.

"Aha," said Bao-Dur, "it looks like the Sith left it to run a simulation of some sort."

"Can you shut down the field?" Atton asked impatiently.

"Aye," Bao-Dur replied, his eyes still browsing the screen, "but we might as well rip the rewards here. The simulation is done, and by the look of it, it converged. Now I just need to… yes." A faint click followed his words, and hatch opened in the wall, revealing a set of robes. Bao-Dur laughed: "A tech had a sense of humor to seal his own prized possession in the tomb". "The field?" Atton interrupted impatiently. "All done," Bao-Dur replied.

Atton turned to go, but he felt drawn to the robes. Against his better judgment, he pulled it out of its niche. It was dark green and grey, and rough to the touch. The passage of time didn't eat away at the fabric or the touch of the Force. Atton remembered the feeling of being one with the lightsaber the other day, without the armor being in the way, and cringed.

"Atton, are you coming?" Disciple called from the darkness of the service tunnel.

_A man must do what he has to do. _With a resigned sigh Atton shrugged out of the shell of his armor and pulled the robes on. Then he raced after Bao-Dur and Disciple. "Not a word," he warned them, as the three of them got into the antechamber from the service tunnel. The entrance was no longer lit by the purple light. They stepped through and came face to face with the waiting Sith.

The silence in the burial chamber was complete and menacing. A tall, dark-clad man lit up a red lightsaber and stared down at them.

"You cannot hope to stop us," the Sith said. "And why? You think you are strong in the Forcce-"

"Glad you've noticed," Atton called back at him.

"But if you shall join in our ritual, you could grow far beyond what you can imagine," the Sith said.

"Are you sure? I have a vivid imagination," Atton responded.

"The power of the Dark Side is immense," the Sith taunted, "Join us while you can. I will not offer again."

_How different are we, really?_ Atton thought for a mad moment. _All men, all armed with something we cannot fully comprehend, all spilling our blood for one leader or another._

"You are wrong!" the young, brave voice cut in, and bounced echoing off the gloom walls. "The Light Side is the stronger. Repent, come with us to the light, and you shall find out for yourself."

_Her most beloved student…_

The Sith laughed heartily: "Fool. The Dark Side-"

It did feel good that someone else was called a fool for a change.

"Enough of this," Atton yelled, growing weary with the pointlessness of it. "Your side is stronger, my side is stronger… that's good for children. Let's do it in a men's way. See who has a bigger lightsaber."

"Lightsaber, Atton, really?" Bao-Dur chuckled behind him, amused.

The carnage that followed was apparently enough to satisfy Xarga. They've just jumped out of the speeder by the Ebon Hawk, when he turned it around in a tight curve, splattering them with dirt and grass, and yelled over the engine's roar: "Fought like Mandalorians, aye." Atton had to hold Bao-Dur back bodily: the Iridonian apparently did not take this as a compliment.

Atton stretched himself in the shade below the _Ebon Hawk_ intent on doing nothing for the rest of the day. _A man deserves an afternoon nap, after a job well-done. _He wouldn't fall asleep though. Truth be told, he would have been much more comfortable on his bunk, not on the eternally dump jungle soil. Yet he stayed. For one, they left him alone. For another-

The rumble of the ship did not sound like the fiery roar of the Basilisk. It was a pretty cruiser that dropped off near them. Atton lifted himself on one elbow and watched the old witch; the blind witch and that damn woman disembark and head for the _Hawk_.

Quinly fell back, slowed her steps and bent over to look at him. "Hello, Quinly," he called, climbed from his shelter, stood for a moment to stretched his stiffening back. _Jedi don't catch a chill_. She scrutinized him without saying a word.

"So, how was your vacation on Onderon?" he asked conversationally.

"Queen Talia now rules unopposed," Quinly replied softly.

"That's all you have to say? No mention of all those troops loyal to Tobin you had to vanquish? The _three_ of you?" Atton laughed.

Quinly waved her fingers in the air: "The Jedi are not to be underestimated. There is peace on Onderon."

That's not how he'd imagined her coming back in the shadows under the _Ebon Hawk _pressing his forehead against the hot damp soil of Dxun. Why in blazes he'd imagined her tired and more pliable? Hurting maybe, needing a strong- _A fool after all_. "Well, thank you for the political update then."

Quinly straightened the collar of the robes for him, light fingers running the length of his shoulder, stopping at his neck. "Green is a good color on you."

His best guess was that it meant that he'd passed his test.


	6. Chapter 6

6. The Doings of Women

The restless wind of Korriban rolled the sand in a simple pattern: cover the desiccating corpses, and then reveal them. And so on. Endlessly. Atton took the boot off and poured some of the sand out. _Can anyone depart from here without taking at least a single grain along? Is it evil?_ As far as desolation went, Korriban had few rivals, and Atton had seen plenty of ravaged places in his lifetime. Maybe he should have stayed inside, hiding like Kreia. Only Kreia frightened him more than the ancient Sith corpses. Plus, if he was tanning on these morbid sand dunes, doing what Kreia declared she couldn't, didn't that make him stronger than the old witch? _A man could hope. The sooner Quinly is back, the better._

"You are ill-suited for the academic setting, Atton," Quinly said with a trace of a smile, when he wanted to come down the valley, "and Disciple needs to face his tests." "In the Sith Academy?" Atton asked, wondering if he could go for a day in this woman's company without being thoroughly puzzled by the strange leaps of logic. She played pazaak like that too, making decidedly odd choices. "The destroyed Sith Academy, Atton." She must have detected his anxiety about her wandering off with Disciple down the twisting cut through the red mudstones, the landscape set for nightmares. "Everything is dead here, Atton. I do not feel the presence of Master Vash, but I have to search, while Disciple will take a look at what the looters left of the Great Library of the Sith." Atton replied with an almost perfect Jedi calm: "May the Force be with you." The words were like the sands of Korriban, hiding the skeletons below. No matter how empty the valley of the tombs looked the two were walking into danger, and there was no fooling anyone, not even the robots.

That's why Atton tanned on the dunes, and made a slow progress towards the cut through the rocks. That's why he was the first to spot Disciple returning. _Alone. _"Where is she?" Atton asked brusquely. Disciple closed his eyes for a moment. Atton counted out 10 cards to put in his imaginary side deck. "The Academy, that was a sham, nothing was there, apart from Master Vash. Dead. We found a cave's mouth. It did not look like much, but she went in, told me that's why we've come here after all." Disciple clutched his shoulders looking pained and his voice dropped to a whisper. "There was a purple light. Not a force field. Just… light. She's passed through it like a knife through butter and I… I couldn't." Atton was about to scream at the man for being a deserter, but cut himself off. The sheer misery of the young man's blue eyes was telling enough. Disciple tried to pass, again and again… and he, Atton would have been just as impotent to follow. "You go, eat something," Atton said roughly, pushing the young man back towards the _Hawk_. "I don't think I could—" Disciple argued. "Oh yes, you can and you will. Retch if you have to, but blazing eat." Disciple dragged himself a few steps, then turned: "You coming?" Atton shrugged: "I should, but I am a fool. Everyone says so."

He did not have to prove his foolhardiness after all. Quinly was sitting by the cave's entrance when he'd made his way. Not in a proper meditation pose, but getting there: head leaned back against the rock wall. Atton called out her name. Quinly opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment. "Is everyone…" She must have noticed how hoarse her voice was, because she coughed a few times, then tried again: "Is everyone well on the _Hawk_?"

Atton nodded, and extended his arm for her to garb onto. "You've been better, old girl. Need a med?" She shook her head: "Nothing's hurt, but my pride. In my arrogance I have not foreseen that I myself may be tested." Her fingers wrapped around his wrist and he pulled her to her feet. That was the closest he'd ever stood to her, and a forgotten giddiness rose in his chest. The sort you felt when you knew the girl who'd never kissed you before is just about to.

"What is your name?" she asked him quietly. "My name?" he asked over all the pounding and drumming inside him. "On Nar Shaddaa, the twi'leks who recognized you told me you've called yourself differently once." Atton sighed: "My name _is_ Atton. I've taken an alias in the army, edgier, I thought. Just like your most beloved student." Quinly raised her brow. "What, do you really think his mother called him Disciple?" Atton chuckled. "I guess not," Quinly said, "you were not so different from him once." He did not like the sound of it. "And where is home, Atton?" He did not know what madcap mood came onto him to blurt out _Malachor_. He regretted it instantly seeing her facial muscle lose every trace of those small motions that animated it. "No, no, I am sorry, I was mad you were interrogating me again. Look, I come from Alderan, a green world ruled by the noble princes. You haven't personally burned my house, and for all I know my parents still live and are ready to chew my ear off as much as ever. Not everything has to be linked, not everything has to end in blazes, Quinly."

"What happened to you," Quinly sighed stepping back "is the greatest shame of our times."

"There's a chance that something good might yet happen to us…" Atton whispered closing the distance. She gave a quick glance behind her shoulder into the darkness of the cave.

"I have just killed you back there," she said. "Actually, I did not even do that. I stood and let the blaster fire burn me watching Kreia kill you." Atton massaged his temples: "This witch poisons everything." "And I have seen all of you die by her hand because down there, in that moment it meant her salvation," Quinly finished firmly. _She believes it, by the Force, she believes it. How can someone think like that?_

"Do _you_ know where home is, Quinly?" he asked, wondering. "How old where you when you went to the Temple?" Quinly smiled up at him with what looked like pride: "I came to the Jedi younger than most anyone in the Annals. I believe I have come from a distant world, for my parents never visited. Very much like Disciple, actually, only my training went uninterrupted."

"Why, he is a bit like me, and a bit like you. We might as well adopt him," Atton muttered. A shadow crossed Quinly's handsome face. _There is a woman there still, and she knows what she had sacrificed. Unless it's just the children of her body. _

"Tell me one more thing," he pressed, "just one. Down that cave, in the dark, you wanted me to be by your side, did not you?" She took him by the hand and walked towards the _Ebon Hawk_.

She did not say a word and they were only a few steps away. She released his hand and made for the ramp. "Make sure next time you want me to be by your side, I am," Atton called after her.

Quinly turned to him, held his gaze and said: "Atton, down in that cave, in the dark, you were the very last person I wanted near me." When they captured them on Telos, the brawny Echani women dragged him, semiconscious, through the snow. He thought he was cold _then_.

Quinly must have felt it, because she added quickly: "Revan was there."

Atton had a very hard time following her: "Did you love Revan?" _The only thing that makes sense the way she looks at me_. Quinly laughed, and he caught a glimpse of Quinly that once was. _Happy. Brush. Fearless._ "I am glad you still can think like that, Atton. No, I didn't love Revan. _Admiral_ Onasi loved Revan. A pawdwan Quinly did not love Revan. She worshipped her. And when Quinly was done worshipping her, she worshipped the dirt that she walked on."

Heat and conviction filled Quinly's voice: "Revan was glorious, beyond any comparison or competition. She taught us that we were smart and young, and too talented to be restrained by the ancient rules. She was walking a path that was neither Sith, nor Jedi, a glorious new discovery, I've thought. I marveled at Revan, and I raged at Revan's detractors. "

She paused to catch her breath. Instead, it went out of her. Her shoulders sagged, and she went on, in a dead voice: "And then came the day when I stood on the bridge, waiting for Revan to break the rules, to do the impossible. She did not come. She couldn't. Instead, I've killed thousands so that the millions might wake up the next morning to be properly terrified by what I have done." _I, not we… She absolved Bao-Dur. Bah, what does it matter?_

"That's when I understood that the old rules weren't dust at all, but blood of thousands upon thousands… and that is why I stand by them, and I that what I will teach." That sounded final and firm, but Atton tried to argue, a last, desperate shot in the dark. "Revan's gone. You've only saw a construct, Kreia's ghastly test. And I wager you handed her holy backside right back to her!"

She looked at him kindly: "You wish."

Then, calm and collected again, Quinly asked him to plot the course for Dantoine. _So much for the love without pain. _


	7. Chapter 7

7. Jedi's Code

Atton mostly slept whenever he could get away from the cockpit. In the Outer Rim it meant quite a lot of sleeping: the space-ways where for the most part deserted. But on the Dantooine's approach he resumed his vigilance. That passenger of his sought trouble, and Atton wanted to be ready for whatever came. It was quiet still. Atton tried to play pazaak, but instead found himself… well, not meditating exactly, but repeating the Jedi Code, quiet-like.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

Nobody shoot at them as they've landed by the City of Scraps as Atton came to call Dantooine's mighty capital. _It isn't half-a-bad place for a strong man, and I could learn to herd… whatever they're herding here. _

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

Atton did not call after Quinly when she walked down the hall, down the plank into the green pasture. His company was rejected enough times, and only a fool-

_Kreia? What's she doing following her out?_

Now, that was sweet. Let the old witch be on the receiving end of Quinly's disapproval for once.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

It's probably the old ruins like her who wrote the Jedi Code. Only the senile could have come up with the scheme of gathering spirited boys and girls all across the Galaxy, and raising them all as jolly good friends. As if it took a particular talent to figure out how particular parts fit together.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

And not just the parts, it was the whole deal more, that one couldn't buy from a whore. What could possibly be wrong with it? Were Sith known for being extraordinary lovers? How's man with a sword was superior to a man with a sword and a girl?

_There is no death, there is the Force._

The more he recited the mantra, the more it became clearer to Atton was that they were written by an ancient who feared death. He guffawed. All that ceremony - and for what? To keep one's nerve under fire? And, blazes, he couldn't see how anyone living by that code would have done differently than Quinly at Malachor. They've taught her to play by numbers, not emotions, and so she did. A Sith would have done no differently, from what Atton knew of them, except a Sith would have done it howling with laughter or rage, and Quinly made her choices in that serene, stifling silence. _If Bao-Dur was to be believed, and why would he lie?_

Were Atton in her shoe, that's what he would have told the Masters on Dantooine. He would have told them… no, he should tell her that it's all because the Jedi code has not a single damn line about love or goodness or kindness. If they'd mentioned love, well, maybe then they would be different from the Sith in more than the way they killed.

_The less I tell her, the better_. WHAT?!

Atton managed to get out of his chair before the pale white shadows rushed him, and a flurry of blunt blows crushed him to the floor. _Not again!_ It was from this awkward point of view that he watched Kreia's soft slippers to shuffle away surrounded by the sturdy military boots of the Echani maidens.

_Atton? Atton Rand?_

_Oh, pretty eyes! Not just eyes…good grief, looks like we've played rough— Oh, blazes. Jedi. End of the world. Quin-_

"Quinly?" He groaned coming to his senses, despite his urge to cling to the very pleasant fantasy.

"Where is Kreia?" she asked in a clipped tone. Quinly looked battered and on the verge of tears. Hardly on his account though. The meeting likely involved the lightsaber or worse.

"Atris took that old Sith," Atton spat.

"A Sith? You think Kreia is a Sith?" Quinly grabbed him for balance. And he was only starting to get up. Together they climbed unsteadily to their feet and she let go so suddenly he sat down on the floor again.

"Look, go easy on me! Someone got to, and those Atris' wyverns sure weren't," he couldn't help but to grin up at her. Quinly flinched as if he hit her. "They took Kreia," he explained patiently, deciding to stick to short sentences. He couldn't handle the undercurrents just now. "Arrested her. As a Sith she is. You've heard her, didn't you? All that talk about strength, and standing on one's own two feet-"

"Kreia killed the Masters when they tried to cut me off the Force again," Quinly said distantly.

"Oh. Well. _They_ were the Sith? You could have handled them, I am sure—" Atton fumbled.

"They were not. I've submitted to their judgment," Quinly said hollowly. "But Kreia interfered before…before they could carry out the sentence."

Atton finally managed to straighten up holding to the back of the pilot's chair. "There is nothing for it-"

"No. There is," Disciple cut through the doors and stared hard at Quinly. _Oh, good. I desperately wanted his opinion. _

"Master, what has happened? What did the Counsel tell you?"

"That I caused a wound in the Force at Malachor," Quinly said quietly, "that I _am_ the wound that devours anyone who is sensitive to the Force. That the Sith whom we face learned from me how to exploit the others…"

"This cannot be," Disciple said with the certainty of youth.

"Then why do people follow me unto their deaths?" Quinly asked, "why do you follow, if not because the Force is perverted through me to bind you?"

Atton stared, transfixed by the power that filled her words. _Is that it? The truth? That simple?!_

Disciple crossed the room, reached for her, then changed his mind and run his hand through his hair instead.

"I follow you because I chose to, and others are no different. And we have made those choices well before Malachor." He colored slightly and finished quieter: "At least I did."

His voice picked up though and quivered as he went on: "You are not in control, Quinly, but you take charge, you always do. You are a Jedi, through and through, not just a Knight, but a Master. You will lead, and I will follow to whatever end."

Then he smiled so radiant, so young: "And that end, Master, is not going to be grim. Take it from a bookworm. I have read everything that was written about you, every report, every datapad. You are hope and life, not death."

Quinly closed her eyes and whispered: "Telos. We must leave for Telos, I feel that much will be decided there."

"I was afraid you're going to say that," Atton muttered and leaned over the panel. When he lifted his head again, both the Master and her beloved student were gone. He sighed. _Education, you can't beat it. All I had to offer the girl was a quip, and not a very good one at that. _He tried not to imagine what a younger man might offer in addition to words as a consolation.

When Telos came into view, Atton immediately knew the things were back to normal. The planet was surrounded by a fleet of warships, heavy fire blasting at the Citadel Station. "Hold tight, brethren!" Atton shouted into the com, and plunged the _Hawk_ through the biggest gap in the battle he could spot. They docked with a resounding crash and Quinly had to pry the doors to the hangar with her lightsaber. The station halls looked completely different with the emergency lights flooding it with red glow, interspersed with the flares and flashes of the battle raging in the skies above. Lieutenant Grenn's attitude changed too: he showed no inclination at all to arrest them.

"The Sith, Ma'am," he addressed Quinly, "dropped out of the hyperspace like a locust. I do not know where they build the fleet—"

Visas lifted her veiled face upwards and said in her usual otherworldly way: "My Master is here. He has come to feed." _That's helpful._

Lieutenant Grenn seemed to share Atton's indifference to the identity of the Sith fleet's leader, and quickly re-focused on here and now: "They keep dropping more forces. Queen Talia had sent reinforcements, and… and the Mandalorians are here of all things. On _our_ side. Strange times… but we cannot hold the Sith back for long. Ma'am, we need help."

"Her battle is there, on the Ravager," Visas interjected again.

Grenn frowned: "You cannot gain access to shuttle on if you do not throw back the Sith—"

"We shall," Quinly said, and turned to Visas: "You will secure the shuttle bay and wait for me there."

"A moment, General?" They all turned to see Bao-Dur straightening from the TSF terminal. "General, they target Chodo Habat's shields."

"My Master has come to feed," Visas repeated mournfully.

"If I do not reinforce the shields now, your prize will be a dead planet," Bao-Dur concluded quietly, "I must go, General."

Quinly looked at the Zabrak for a moment, and started to nod, but checked herself, and spoke up instead: "Rejoin us at the TSF office once you have completed your mission." "Aye, General," Bao-Dur responded, "If we are separated, I have added subroutines to Remote to aid you." He proffered a datapad. Quinly took it without glancing at it and said softly: "May the Force be with you." Bao-Dur echoed her words. Atton sensed that something important took place, but he did not know what it could be. Bao-Dur's leaving _now_ did not make sense, they were a sword short, and – Quinly charged forward, as if trying to recoup the lost time.

When he was a kid, they used to play ball games. Half of the kids will pull the shirts off, half – will keep them on, and you stack to your team. Pure pazaak. In the red-lighted Citadel halls, Atton had a surreal feel that the other kids ignored his shirt status, and he ended up playing for the wrong team. How many times did he charge with the others, carefully picking out the robed figures with the lightsabres among the _enemy_ ranks? Now he was the robed one with a lightsaber, and somewhere with the mass of black-clad men, there was someone who ignored the soldiers and the blaster fire and watched _him_ carefully, waiting for an opening. He tried to use his knowledge to pick them up among the attackers, and found it easy. His lightsaber neatly sliced in half a figure intent on the black, red and gold of Visas robes, a moment before a heavy blast ripped what was left of the would be assassin. The Mandalore towered protectively over the Miraluka and Quinly peeled of from the fight and made her way towards them.

"Just me, and Disciple then," Atton thought, but he was mistaken. Quinly shouted, Mira turned, and dropped one of her blasters in time to catch something out of the air. She kept shooting the other one even as a short ray of the silver white light cut the air around her in a hungry arc.

It took far longer than Atton expected, but finally a huge mass of black came crushing down and shook the Citadel. As the Ravager fell, the will to fight went out of the Sith forces. They've ran. Leaving the TSF and Ondoran soldiers to rout the enemy, Atton found Disciple and Mira, and made for the TSF office. Mira carried the lightsaber in an outstretched hand, from time to time giving it a quizzical look. And, for once, she kept completely silent.

The Mandalore came in first, his battle suit blackened, but a swagger in his step. Quinly was another matter entirely. She leaned heavily on Visas, and Disciple hurried with a healing spell, but stopped with his palm half-way in the air. Atton saw it too.

_The Remote hovered by Quinly's ear. _

"Bao-Dur," Atton mouthed. Quinlystraightened with a visible effort and solemnly intoned: "There is no death." They all echoed: "There is the Force."

"Maybe the ancients didn't mean their own death," Atton thought, "but the death of the others."


	8. Chapter 8

8. Jedi's Sacrifice

Atton did not pretend to understand how exactly Atris betrayed the Jedi, but he took Quinly's word for it. The worst thing Atris did, as far as he was concerned, is point them to Malachor. He didn't die there once, now he was going to give it another shot. _Stupid place. Stupid Kreia. Well, Dart Traya. Whatever. _Atton rubbed his forehead. This was no time for daydreaming. It was time to fly like he'd never flown before. Getting off Peragus was a wild ride, but this was worse. At Peragus, they didn't have to swagger their way through an entire fleet of ghost ships. They were like a locust, swarming around the heart of darkness, a heavy dark core littered with twisted metal. _There is no flat stretch anywhere. _Atton closed his eyes and pushed the throttle forward to engage the landing thrusters. If Force guided them all along, it will let them land.

_Force, yeah. Not a great for flying._

Atton didn't enjoy being knocked out. His head hurt, his back hurt, and it was dreadfully cold. He sat up and called: "Quinly?" There was no reply. He tried to sit up, and slipped down towards the pilot's chair. The ship was lodged sideways. Climbing through the doors, he found Visas in the hall. Her dark mouth was a touch slack, so he figured she was dazed. It was darn hard to tell, with the veil and all, though it was probably better than blinded eyes. He'd never wanted to see _that_ again. It was worse by some reason than other mutilations and mutations.

Disciple started coughing behind him, and crawled out of the bay. "Quinly?" he asked hoarsely addressing himself to the floor. Atton wished the pretty boy would throw up.

"Hello-ooo?!" the sing-song voice was annoyingly alert. And that's exactly what Mira looked bursting into the mess with a huge wookie in tow. The wookie didn't look thriving. "Come ON! I've talked my old _buddy_ here to show us through the back doors. Because, you know, Quinly's left alone, that crazy, arrogant… well, whatever she is. Unless you want to leave the whole thing to her?"

Disciple jumped up to his feet, and wobbled precariously. The wookie howled. Atton offered Visas a hand. Visas knocked it aside and rose sinuously. Well, if she could do it all along, why did she continue sitting on the floor like that?

They made a quick and quiet progress through the graveyard world. Strange creatures lurked in the shadows. Strange shadows danced through the noxious fumes. The noxious fumes were, well, noxious. They kept their breath under control, but the stink of death permeated it all. There was a small service door cut into the rock, and the wookie indicated it. Then he wandered away into the shadows cackling madly. "Where he's going?" Atton asked Mira. "To die, I'm guessing," Mira shrugged, "he is crazy, you know."

"As opposite to us," Atton grumbled and sliced the lock. "After you…" they filed in, and found themselves on a rock shelf overlooking a circular room, with a floor of glowing red. Kreia, a.k.a Darth Traya slouched in the middle, looking like the oldest thing in the existence. Even from the shelf Atton could feel her contempt for pretty much the whole world.

"We can blast her to smithereens," Mira said lifting the rocket launcher to her shoulder. Disciple put his hand on it. "It will not even sting, Mira. The Force is the only weapon we can wield against her." Mira pursed her lips, but Visas spoke up first: "He is not wrong. We must confront Darth Traya and we must stand united. _United." _She faced him and Disciple in turn. _What does she expect us to do? Shake hands?_ He shrugged: "All together then." That seemed to satisfy Visas. She simply turned and made a leap for Darth Traya. Disciple and Mira followed, but Atton hesitated a moment. It didn't feel right.

Darth Traya turned toward Visas: "A blind one—" and Visas crumpled, Visas, who was born into the Force and walked both sides with ease.

"We made a mistake," Atton thought desperately, "we should have waited—" It was too late. Disciple screamed; "She did not come alone," and Traya spat out: "Pawn." Mira didn't like that one bit. "We'll end you, old woman." Atton felt the obligation to join in: "And here I come in, saying something suitably heroic." He unsheathed his lightsaber for a better effect, but Darth Traya paid him no heed. She was laughing at Disciple, taunting the man with things he wouldn't do after she's done with him. Mostly, it related to him not getting into bed with Quinly, which was alright with Atton. It was his opening, and he tried to run for Darth Traya, but found himself fastened in place. _The witch hold me! _Atton struggled, and tried to throw a lightsaber at her. Disciple was on the floor, unseeing eyes staring at Atton. Darth Traya was chewing Mira's ear off. It would have been almost funny, an old woman giving them the trashing except… Atton turned. He could run _the other way_. So he did, as Mira fell, and as Traya's rustling voice called him a fool. He grated his teeth, he would not give the Sith the satisfaction.

_Find Quinly, find Quinly-_

And then a man blocked his way. Literally. In life he must have been huge already, but engorged by the force, Darth Sion was towering to over eight feet of charred skin over raw, red muscle. Atton froze in his tracks.

"And I get the fool," Darth Sion boomed. He looked down at him, and when he said it, when he'd looked at him, Atton had a moment of extreme clarity. Despite the horror, the laughter burst forth from his lips. "Funny, I've just thought the same thing." _Oh, Quinly, you are one dangerous woman._

Darth Sion charged roaring, and Atton parried, and parried, and parried till his arm gave out. It was no use. He's come to it too late, and has learned too little. The pain seared, dropping him down. "You are pathetic," Atton muttered. Sion cut a few more times, to ensure he doesn't die too fast or too painless, and walked out to wait for Quinly. It was hard to think for the pain, but Atton had to focus. How's Quinly going to take so many bonds cut off at once through violence? He didn't think Traya wasted her focus on killing the rest of his company, but he couldn't know for sure. He felt inwards and found the knot… he almost laughed. It was as easy as pulling the string to let a bow untie. _One just had to want it_. The bond dissolved. Quinly was free from his pain. It was time to go. _Pure Pazaak. Why didn't Bao-Dur do it?_

Atton turned his mind to the silvery wave that he'd been pushing beyond his field of sight until now. It looked pretty. Then the steps echoed, sped up, and he forced himself to open his eyes. Quinly kneeled, and put her hand out efficiently.

When they died, there was always the last burst of strength, the might of the dying, he remembered. He was so tired, but he summoned it to push her hand away. "No use," he croaked. "Listen. Sion, he's like me, like Disciple. Don't know how. Or when. Will be harder for him to kill you. Use it." He thought about telling her that love without pain, that loving everyone equally was the ultimate nonsense, but his last strength was used up. _She'd know in time._

Atton could not see her through the glow of the Force in his eyes. But he waited until he could hear her receding steps no more. The shimmering wave closed over him and dragged him into the very depth of the light.

Epilogue

He landed the speeder by the small shack perched on a gentle grassy hill sloping towards the gray cliffs and the sea. His heart pounded as he opened the door. Quinly was on her knees, apparently packing a chest with datapads. She was presently staring at one of them, frowning, biting her lip. She lifted her head and smiled up at him: "I can't tell heads from tails. I hope Chodo Habat could find someone who can." Quinly rose: "But you did not ride all the way here to help me pack Bao-Dur's things. Come, I will show you what your Order has just acquired."

She led him to the cliff and pointed out the extent of the lands around Bao-Dur's small dwelling, untouched under the shield the Zabrak held together by feeding his lifeforce to it. It was a beautiful strip of green, and the warm soft drizzle made his hair and skin feel pleasantly moist. He was getting used to living underground and expecting the outdoors to be nothing but endless snow. He told her about people answering the call they've placed. The drop-outs, the lost ones, the very young. He laughed at the ambitious parents that would not believe their children did not have the Force sensitivity.

"Atris came back as well, Master. She's asking to help as an administrator."

"And?" Quinly asked.

"I think I should accept her," he said.

"Then do so," Quinly replied. "She will test you, and oppose you every step of the way, but you can manage her."

He stopped, swallowed. This conversation was trivial, but he did not have the guts to ask her the most important thing. "When…when are we to expect you at the Academy, Master?"

Quinly laughed and beaconed. She led him back to the shack to a big stack of boxes with Habat's seal on it. A strange tool was leaning against it, really just a shaft with a wide, semi-circular metal blade. "Is that…" he raked his memory, "a shovel?" Quinly nodded and took the ancient tool in her hands, then proceeded to dig a hole in the ground. He took the other shovel and joined her. She seemed to want a circular hole about a meter deep. When they were done, Quinly picked a handful of dirt, he followed her example again, and enjoyed the rich moist feel. She opened one of the containers, and revealed a tiny tree, just a few sticks, no leaves yet, and a surprisingly large root bulb. Checking a datapad carefully, they missed the dirt on the bottom of the hole with some supplement, planted the tree, and watered it. He wasn't sure the last one was needed with all the drizzle, but Quinly appealed to Habat's instructions. It took a surprisingly long time to plant this one tiny little tree by hand.

"I intend to plant a grove here," Quinly said at last. He looked around. "It will be a place of power, Master, of course. But why now? The Order needs you desperately, when we are so few."

Quinly smiled sadly. "Mical, the Order has exiled me, and for a good reason. This is my place for now. My duty. I am afraid I will always be remembered as a menace of Malachor, the death-bringer."

"No!" he exclaimed, "no!"

"You are trying to white-wash me again. Do not. It will harm your efforts. Distance the Order from me. I have never seen anyone whose nature is more of the light than you. It is so apparent; those who never touch the Force can see it. Do not confuse them, Mical."

He sighed. "There is one more thing. Mira wants—"

Quinly nodded: "I know what Mira wants, and my answer is the same as before. I shall not take another student."

"Is that all I should tell her?" he asked sadly.

"No," Quinly replied, and hope woke in him for a moment. "No, there is more you can tell her. But not until you accept that you are ready to take on your first pawdawan."

The chill of foreboding ran through him. "Once the grove is planted, what's then?"

Her face turned thoughtful. "I have Revan's ship, but Revan is lost somewhere beyond the Rim. And Admiral Onasi had asked me to tell her that he's waiting." "Admiral has no jurisdiction to order you around!" Mical burst out. "That was no order, Mical," Quinly said quietly, "That aside, Kreia told me and I know it for truth that Revan must be found for our sacrifices to have meaning."

"I will come with you," Mical offered.

"You, Mical, will shine brighter once you step out of my shadow," Quinly told him with finality and started digging another hole.

There was nothing else to say, and Mical walked slowly to his speeder. _So that's how a man feels after he'd lived his dream_. It seemed like a thousand years had passed since he was a boy sheltering among the white columns, looking down at the sparing grounds. Down there, a young Knight and a senior padawan sparred endlessly, until the Knight threw her hands up in frustration: "Quinly, if that was a lightsaber, you'd be long dead. Yield." The younger woman cut the legs from under the Knight: "This is a training sword, Master Revan." The Knight did not get up from the ground after her fall. She crossed her legs, looked up and asked intently: "And do you want to keep fighting with the training blades, Quinly, when the Mandalorians burn and pillage a world after world?" Quinly stood to attention. "Master?"

"I have seen your battle simulations, Quinly. I found them impressive." Quinly sounded surprised: "Then you are the only one. The Masters have barely let me pass." Revan chuckled: "They would. You have sacrificed more than they could stomach. But you've come out victorious every single time. As I said, impressive." The Knight looked up, right at Mical's hiding place, and finally got up, dusting off her soft trousers. "Let us go chat about it somewhere… quieter."

Mical knew that Revan was everyone's talk, with her swift rise and unorthodox ways. Yet it was the younger pawdawan that captivated his imagination. Over the next few weeks he shadowed Quinly, watching her fight, meditate, argue. Everything she did had energy and purpose to it. She'd laughed back then, too, easily and happily. On the night they had given her the lightsaber, Mical trailed her, eager to ask if she would consider him as a pawdawan, but she was so lost in her thoughts, she'd never heard him call after her. _Tomorrow_, he'd thought_, tomorrow_. The next morning Quinly's abrupt departure and betrayal was the scandal everyone whispered about. But he did not stop dreaming of adventuring far and wide with Master Quinly. Now he did. There was another part to those old dreams. That she'd notice him for a grown man. She did, and treated him as such. _It is a hard thing to live longer than your dreams_. He sped away for the pole and the many obligations of a Jedi Master.

Quinly straightened from patting the dirt around another tree. They were falling into a pattern she'd dreamed about. She knew he was guiding her. Or she had hoped. "Are you here?" she asked the dusk.

Slowly, the air darkened even more right by her side, thickened into a figure kneeling on the grass. "Have I done well?" she'd asked him quietly. He straightened and gave the greenery a good long look, then took the shovel away from her. She started. From what she knew of the Force apparitions they were never substantial.

"You," she stumbled, "you could always make anything work."

"It's far from perfect," he said and shook his head self-depreciatively. The shovel dropped _through_ his hand. "And I have never hoped for you to come here. Or to remember what I have told you about the trees and the shovels and making amends."

"That's because you are a fool," Quinly retorted. "Or maybe you are the wise one. It is me who still walks among the living, and plants in hopes to find forgiveness for all those who had died. There has been so much death, but it keeps skipping me over."

"Come here," he said simply. "Just don't lean in too much, or you might end up with dirt all over your face."

"Won't be the first time," Quinly replied, "I need a shoulder to cry on. Don't tell anyone." She pressed her forehead against his chest tentatively. He wrapped his arms around her with the same care. "Very strange," she muttered. "Yes," he replied, "strange." A moment passed in silence, and then suddenly, her outward serenity gave way. Quinly's strong shoulders drooped and shook. Ever so slightly he touched the top of her head, her hair with his lips. It should have been imperceptible, but she lifted her wet face off his chest at once to look up at him.

"_You?"_

"Always, General," he replied.

The End


End file.
